


The Horrors of Horror

by MeltingAutumn



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Crying, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attack, Panic Attacks, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltingAutumn/pseuds/MeltingAutumn
Summary: “Wilbur?” Tommy mutters, terror gripping him.There’s no response.He truly can’t move now. Fear has fastened him with a chain and he’s stuck in place, staring at the floor, shivering violently, breathing hard and fast and way too quickly- a dizzy spell starts to overtake the back of his skull and black spots dance in his vision, and the awareness of seventy-thousand people watching him is completely gone as he takes in the horror show that has completely enveloped his senses.--or, Tommy doesn't like horror games and this one gives him a panic attack
Relationships: no - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 409





	The Horrors of Horror

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt read this through before posting so sorry for errors or bad writing lol

Tommy Innit does not like horror games.

Never has, and never will.

Which is why he’s currently sat at his computer wondering how the fuck Wilbur had managed to talk him into this. Phasmophobia. He’d heard plenty about the game by now- not enough to know how to play, but certainly enough to know that he should avoid it lest it gives him a heart attack and gray hair.

Yet, here he is, booting up his stream, switching the capture to his VR Headset. It was bad enough that he had to play the game, but in Virtual Reality, where everything felt more real and close and threatening?

He’s not sure he can do this.

“Heyyyy, Wilbur!” He shouts upon entering the discord call, grinning for the camera. “I hope you know that I hate this and I hate you.”

Wilbur laughs in response, and Tommy scoots his chair back to make space for the game. “Hello to you too, Tommy.”

“Like, seriously. You know I hate horror. I really really do.”

“That’s the fun in it, Tommy!”

“Yeah but it’s really not fun for me, Wilbur.”

“It’s fun for everyone else, and that’s what really matters.”

He can just hear his shit-eating grin through the microphone. Tommy shakes his head at the camera and stands up. Pointing a finger at the lens, he chastises chat. “You all wanted this! It’s your fault!”

“Think of all the views you’ll get, Tommy.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’ve got to think of the views.” Tommy replies, pulling the headset over his eyes. “For the views. For the money. For the primes. For the women.”

“The only women you’ll see in this game are the ones trying to kill you.” Wilbur points out.

“No, no. Women do not try to kill me ever. I am simply too much of a man.”

The loading screen for the game boots up before his very eyes, and his heart sinks into his stomach.

“Wilbur I don’t know if this is worth the views.”

“Is it worth the women?”

Tommy hesitates, but sticks to his bit. “It’s always worth the women, Wilbur.”

“Then let’s go.”

* * *

This was a mistake this was a mistake this was a mistake-

This house is very haunted and the ghost or demon or whatever it’s called is very angry and very mean and Tommy has lost all semblance of critical thinking a long time ago. There’s a loud thump behind them and Tommy leaps right out of his skin, whirling around with a screech. “Wilbur!” He cries out, clutching his controllers in sweaty grips.

His friend lets out a screech, and suddenly his character is spasming in front of his eyes, eventually rag-dolling onto the floor. Tommy takes two steps backwards, holding his arms up to protect himself, only to hear a heavy breath in his left ear, sending him reeling in the other direction, a scream clawing its way up his throat as he leaps right out of his skin.

And now he’s very, very alone.

Breathing fast, he freezes in place, a cold fog sweeping over his nerves. Staring down at Wilbur’s prone form, he’s suddenly very aware of how alone he is now and very aware of how much danger he’s in with whatever just killed his friend.

He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing. It’s only fifteen minutes into the stream and already his heart is pounding against his ribcage, thunder in his ears, his chest tight.

“Wilbur?” He mutters, terror gripping him.

There’s no response.

He truly can’t move now. Fear has fastened him with a chain and he’s stuck in place, staring at the floor, shivering violently, breathing hard and fast and way too quickly- a dizzy spell starts to overtake the back of his skull and black spots dance in his vision, and the awareness of seventy-thousand people watching him is completely gone as he takes in the horror show that has completely enveloped his senses.

The lights in the rendered house flicker and then something appears right in his face, moving towards him, hands clawing over his eyes with loud strings whining in his ears, and he wails a horrified screech, moving his arms to protect himself with his eyes screwed shut and he’s fumbling with the headset, tearing it off and over his head and falling backwards onto his rear end, dropping the controllers and moving his hands to his face.

His breathing does not slow down, and his heart does not calm its thundering rhythm. For an agonizingly long minute, he sits with his back to the bedroom door, face buried in his hands, dizzy and nauseous and terrified and shaking and disoriented. His headphones had managed to stay on his head somehow, and the ambient noise of the game still sends goosebumps down his arms, ice in his nerves, a weight in his gut.

“-Tommy. Tommy, can you hear me?” A familiar voice cuts through the fog and his heart leaps violently in his chest, startling him. “Tommy, hey, breathe. Breathe, child.”

And he tries- oh how desperately he tries- to gulp in deeper breaths and slow his breathing but his hands are shaking and there are tears on his face and he can hardly speak past the block in his throat.

“Tommy, come on, you’re scaring me.”

“Wil-“ He sputters out between ragged inhales, pressing his palms into his eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of the tens of thousands of viewers watching him.

“Breathe, just breathe.”

“Can’t-“ He coughs, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“You’re safe, you’re okay. We don’t have to play anymore, alright? You don’t have to do it anymore, we can play something else.” Wilbur assures him, his voice thick with tension.

And right, right, it’s a game, it’s a game that Wilbur isn’t making him play anymore, he can stop now, oh fuck, he takes a ragged breath and releases a pathetic exhale, but it’s slower than before and he’s beginning to find a grasp on his lungs. He takes a hand off of his eye and presses it against his chest, willing it to move slower. His heart pounds against his hand, and he bows his head in an attempt to recollect himself.

“Fuck.” He mutters, finally finding the ability to take a deep breath.

“Just breathe for a minute, it’s okay. Do you need to pause your stream?”

But the computer is so far away from where he is and Wilbur knows it too- Tommy can’t even bring himself to look up at the camera, scared and vulnerable and way too wound up. He would love nothing more than to block this moment from the internet, to keep it from getting immortalized forever, but it’s already far too late for that.

The awareness of his stream brings back a semblance of stability, though. It’s just a game, and he’s just here for fun. Nobody’s in danger, he’s not alone, he’s safe in his room. He takes another deep breath and finally lifts his head, exhaling through his nose.

“Tommy?”

“I’m okay.”

He swears he can hear Wilbur sigh with relief. “Fuck, Tommy, you scared me half to death.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you want to end stream?”

They had only just begun, but Tommy felt drained and not in the mood anymore. “Yeah.” He answers, ignoring the guilt in his stomach. “Sorry guys, um, I’ll…” His voice shakes a bit, his hands trembling. “I’ll stream some DreamSMP tomorrow. Maybe. We’re gonna end it early here.”

He stands, ignoring the way the room seemed to spin for a moment, moving towards his computer on unsteady feet. He does not read chat, and he does not pay attention to anything else on the screen except the End Stream button. He tries to smile for the camera, but he instantly regret it as he sees his red face and puffy eyes in the studio vision. “Bye guys!”

He ends his stream. Wilbur follows suit. Tommy moves back to pick up where he had thrown the headset, scooping it up and turning it off with shaking hands.

A silence falls between them as he tidies up his space, eventually plopping back into his chair to hear Wilbur mutter, “Hey, Tommy, I’m really sorry.”

“’S okay.” Tommy responds, exhaustion causing his eyes to droop.

“I pushed you to play, I didn’t realize-“

“It’s fine, Wilbur, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you okay?”

Tommy stops, trying to sniffle subtly so he wouldn’t hear it. “Yeah, I’m fine, just… don’t ever make me play horror again please.” He laughs weakly.

His friend’s answer is sincere. “I won’t, I promise.”


End file.
